


Tea and Tontine

by IShouldBe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, F/M, Romance, Ron Weasley Bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:41:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22033480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShouldBe/pseuds/IShouldBe
Summary: The shunned wizard. The bought witch.Though had she simply sold herself in another way?No, no, this was *her* choice.SS/HG HEA...Always :) Oh, and as ever, Ron-bashing
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 312
Kudos: 1052





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

Hermione looked up from the ledgers and let out a long sigh. The wizard who sat opposite to her at the broad, potion-stained table winced and ran a hand through his long, black hair. The numbers hadn't lied to him either. "You need a serious injection of cash, Master Snape."

His mouth twitched up at the corner. "Of that I am well aware...Miss Granger."

She smirked at him and sat back. The edge of the high stool dug into her spine.

"Tea?" Severus pushed himself away from the table and turned to the little kitchen set to the side of his quite lovely laboratory.

"Need you ask?"

Severus slid her a dark look, before he set about the familiar ritual of preparing their tea.

Hermione stared back at the spiky figures scratched into the ledger. It wasn't fair. Severus Snape was brilliant. A brilliant Potion Master. A brilliant wizard, all round. His magic was a thing of power and beauty. Something she openly —and often— said to him in their rather...unexpected friendship after the war.

Mainly she did it to see the line of soft pink chase across his sharp cheekbones.

Severus placed a mug to the right of the accounts ledger and took his seat again. The dark line, one that had eased since this spying days had ended, pushed back between his brows. "I will have to go to the goblins."

Hermione winced.

Yes, a loan from them, if you were needy enough, could be bloody generational.

And well she knew it. The Ministry, in an _unusual_ act of generosity, had paid off her third of the debt to the bank. Vaults and banking halls and dragons were egregiously expensive, apparently. Her belly twisted, the sour burn of her swapping of a debt always there on the very edge of her nerves.

She should've worked out something with the goblins, because the oh-so-generous Ministry had bought _her_. Lock, stock and barrel. _Utter bastards._

Her nascent plan to disappear into academia had been wiped away that day. A condition of their repayment was a muggle-born heroine front and centre in the Ministry. Ron had sidled out of it, she still wasn't sure how. Harry, naturally, had more money than Croesus and had paid off his share without blinking.

Severus set her usual white, bone china mug before her on the table and broke her bitter run of thoughts.

"I can't understand why your profits are so low. The figures should show a very healthy balance in your favour. But, they don't. I can't fathom why. Everything is correct. And, of course, you should be in profit. I mean, you're...you." She waved a hand at him, before she picked up her mug. She inhaled the soft steam and sighed. Perfect as always.

Severus huffed a laugh. "No, that _would_ explain it."

She glared at him over the rim of her mug. "No. _No_." She sipped and another pleasured sigh broke from her. Tension bled away, her shoulders dropping. "You could always open a tea shop? I shouldn't be the only one to experience your perfect cuppa."

True laughter burst from him, rich and deep and a little spiral of joy spun through Hermione's chest. It was a rare occasion that she made him laugh. She savoured it, always promising herself that he should laugh more.

"A rival to Mrs Puddifoot? Cream teas, jam and doilies? I think not."

"Shame, though more for me." She frowned at the pages before her. "Something is off about this, Severus. And it's bloody annoying that I can't put my finger on it."

"It is." He closed over the heavy book with a decided thunk and securing wards chased around the leather binding. A flick of his fingers, a burst of silent, wandless magic, and the book zipped away to the little cubby hole that was his office.

"Show off."

He smirked at her. "Naturally."

Hermione set her mug down and stared into it, watching the steam curl. "I...can't stay to dinner tonight." She pressed her lips together. "My Department has a function. Last minute." She huffed. "Last minute to tell _me_ , anyway. And I'm to be...paraded."

She risked a look at the man opposite. His mouth had thinned and there was the shine of black fire in his eyes.

"It would've been better for you to be owned by the goblins."

A bitter laugh broke from her. Hadn't she just been thinking that? "It would. Then you would've had company."

"Tomorrow instead?"

There was a hint of hesitation in his tone and Hermione's heart squeezed. Severus Snape always expected to be disappointed. She'd vowed to herself never to let him down. Their friendship was a secret he insisted she kept to herself, to protect her own reputation. Not that she wouldn't put it on the front, the back and the entire middle of _The Prophet_. She was proud to know him. But it was his request…and so she honoured it.

His friendship, his laboratory, his books, were the only thing keeping her sane lately. The Ministry and...and _Ron_ danced on her last nerve. "Yes, please, if you can squeeze me in."

"My social diary is quite open, I can assure you, Hermione."

He was shunned. And that annoyed her too.

Polite wizarding society didn't want the reminder of their past in the form of the wizard who had probably done even more than Harry to secure them their Voldemort-free future. And it wasn't their rejection that was pushing down his profits.

No one knew that Wand Light Potions was solely owned by Severus Snape. Hermione had hidden the paper trail herself. The first act in the start of their strange little friendship as he'd made the application for his venture under her time at the Review Desk.

Her first act of rebellion against her masters...

Though...being shunned had to be better than being a paraded muggle-born dressed-up doll. By yards. "If you go to the goblins, you can happily vent. As will I. Then we can break out Malfoy's cognac. Did you know there's a cocktail called a French Squirrel?"

Severus snorted and fresh laughter broke from him.

He toasted her with his mug. "That sounds like a Saturday evening well spent."

Hermione grinned and sipped her perfect tea. "Doesn't it?"


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

The goblin, Sheerspike, frowned at him, then at the scroll that had appeared on his counter, then at Severus again. He leaned back and muttered in Gobbledegook into a shining brass speaking tube. Severus kept his face an impassive mask. The words were too low and quick for him to catch.

He'd owled for an appointment and —unexpectedly— been floo-called with an acceptance for an immediate appointment. He thought he'd had luck on his side for a change. But… _him_ and luck? What fresh nightmare would find him now?

No, the only luck he'd had since finding himself alive the year before was Hermione's vicious little scheme to hide his business. Everything else had churned up shit.

Sheerspike narrowed his eyes. Something shone in their black depths that pricked at his well-honed paranoia. Hermione had not fumbled. Her paperwork was perfect. He trusted that. Absolutely. No, this was something else. The shine in Sheerspike's eyes. That was avarice.

"An office is necessary for further discussion, Master Snape." Sheerspike waved a gnarled hand. "The end of the banking hall. If you please?"

_Please_.

Fuck, that tested Severus' impassive mask. Since when would a goblin say _please_?

What did he have that they coveted?

Everything he had was sunk into his potion business. Money and house. All of it. He didn't have anything extra beyond a measly stipend tied to his Order of Merlin.

Severus jerked a nod. He turned and enjoyed the echoing clack of his dragonhide boots against smooth marble. More than one witch and wizard slid him a look, before their gaze darted away. He kept his chin high. _Fuck them_.

"Master Snape."

Sheerspike dipped in an almost bow and that simply rachetted Severus' paranoia. They only...sort-of-bowed to the likes of Malfoy. Or Albus. They'd practically scraped noses on the floor for Albus. Money and influence. But...he had neither.

Severus stepped into a lamp-lit room and his fingers itched for his wand. A hex already burned on the edge of his tongue.

"Sit, Master Snape. Please."

The 'please' was chaffing the creature. Sheerspike had been dealing with his account since he was eleven years old. Obviously the change in circumstance —whatever the hell it was— had thrown the goblin.

A comfortable, wizard-sized chair stood before a mahogany desk. Severus sat, crossed his legs, and dragged his coat over his knee. Calm. Elegant. The perfect front. Sheerspike climbed into his own chair, equalling them in height.

"You have not sought out the services of the Bank for some time, Master Snape."

Small talk? _From a goblin?_ Severus gut cramped, but there was no harm in greasing the pot. "No. Your effiecency gave me little need."

A muscle twitched under Sheerspike's eye and his lips thinned. He waved a gnarled hand, a pile of scrolls popped onto the desk and the goblin snatched at the first one and unrolled it. "In seeking us out, it has come to the attention of the Bank that your position has changed."

A goblin always anthropomorphised the Bank. They served it. Perhaps, as with Hogwarts, there was a touch of sentience to the building. An unrelenting, _grasping_ sentience.

Severus lifted an eyebrow and waited for Sheerspike to continue.

The goblin pressed thin lips together into an even harsher line. "You are the only son and heir of Tobias Snape. Squib. He is of the House of Shafiq. Your blood is now, as of today, and in presenting yourself to the Bank, recognised as the last wizarding and the last magical Shafiq. The scheme, known as the Shafiq Clause and upon one condition, is wound up and the capital sum is yours."

Severus blinked.

_Fuck_.

_Buggering fuck._

His bastard of a father, the magic-hating, drunken arsehole was a _squib_?

Had his mother known? No, she couldn't have. Her family wouldn't have disowned her for marrying someone who was a squib. Any resulting children would still be pure-bloods...

Merlin's saggy ballsack.

He was a pureblood.

He breathed. In and out. Money. Capital. Sheerspike had said capital sum. And was saying...please. His pulse raced. And he clamped his will on the surge of adrenalin, wrapped his swirling thoughts in icy shields. He didn't want to know anything more about his shit-stain of a father, what or who he was. But the rest..."The Shafiq Clause. Explain."

"It is their singular tontine, Master Snape. All descendants are...garnished, with one sole beneficiary. You have been the last one for a number of years, but as you have not come to the awareness of the Bank, we could not wind up the tontine."

"Garnished?"

Severus, even wrapped in ice, was still having trouble pushing out even one word questions. He was the last in his line. Last Prince —though that had gifted him little more than the tumble-down cottage he now lived him. Last Snape. That had brought him nothing...or so he'd thought.

_His foul shit of a father had been a squib._

No, he wasn't getting over that fact any time soon.

"All monies earned by squibs and half-bloods —either in the muggle or magical world— had a quarter cut taken. Once the last wizarding descendent of the scheme made themselves known to the Bank, the scheme was to be wound up and the final payment made."

His accounts. His money had been cut away...to give to himself. Oh, for fuck's sake.

"My profits were cut?"

"Yes, Master Snape. As were other gifts and benefits not given through other wizarding Blood."

His Order of Merlin. It had even cut away at that.

"But," and he was truly confounded that he would ever utter the words, "I'm a pure-blood."

"You've been the final member of the tontine for a number of years, Master Snape. The magic within the Clause has...fed upon itself. The binds on the tontine made it impossible for us to end it. Nor for us to make you aware. You have our apologies."

And about that, he was lying through his little pointy teeth. Oh, not about the contacting him, he was sure that was the truth. "There was a mask on the Clause." Those...garnished never knew, could never find the root of the disappearing money. Just as he and Hermione hadn't...though they knew something was wrong.

_Fuck_. It had _deepened_ his poverty. It'd stripped what little money he'd had growing up, pulling it from his bastard-father, who'd already been far too easy with letting it slide through his fingers.

"The Clause ran for 400 years. An impressive scheme." Sheerspike's nasal voice warmed. Yes, a goblin would love the idea of fleecing so many people and their knowing nothing about it. "And now it is at an end." And there was his disappointment. "You must meet the final condition and the capital sum, the vaults and all sundries will be yours, Master Snape."

"How much?"

Severus wanted a little bit of good news —or bad, because he knew, he _knew_ the condition set on it would be one he couldn't meet. That was his lot. Perhaps the Shafiq Clause wrapped bad luck around _everyone_ tied to it?

Sheerspike frowned and looked away, as he if he were...conferring. The Bank communed with its servants, then. "As of the last accounting —taken three minutes ago— you, if conditions are met, have 73 million galleons, 12 libraries, an estate in Shropshire, a townhouse in Belgravia and several properties currently tenanted. This sum does not include investments and royalties. Also a…not insignificant sum." A gnarled hand patted a very fat scroll. "The full inventory is here."

Severus discreetly pinched his leg. The sharp bite of pain proved he wasn't dreaming. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck_. He wouldn't have to grub about, fussing and worrying, straining to make enough galleons to run his business and feed himself. He'd be free. Absolutely and utterly...free.

A stone sank into his stomach.

There was a condition.

"What criteria must be met, Sheerspike?"

"Marriage and an heir within a year and a day of your being confirmed by the Bank as the last of your Blood." The goblin frowned at him with displeasure. "You do not meet this need, Master Snape."

Well...fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm slightly hungover, but here's part 3 ;-)

* * *

Hermione's fingers twitched over the jewelled bands that formed a shining ring in the heavy weight of her hair. A gift from Severus, to…corral her medusa locks. A smile caught her. They were plain on the rare occasion she helped him to brew, but on the dreaded nights when she was muggle-born on parade, they gleamed with jewels and could —if she wished it so— port her back to the front door of her little flat.

Severus Snape obviously appreciated a way to escape.

The festooned hall in the bowels of the Ministry was already packed with the finest in wizarding society. The chattering and guffawing wizards forced a wince and she sloped into the room, hoping that no one noticed her...at least for a little while.

Heat and the heavy odour of bodies and cloying perfumes and the clash of meat and cheese and wine crushed against the tension straining her nerves. Hermione fingered the high collar of her plain gown, her skin already hot to the touch. She was missing a perfectly good dinner date with Severus for this nightmare—

"Mione, there you are!"

Ron burst up to her, all flushed and ginger and the pall of firewhiskey shrouding him. He wrapped a heavy arm around her shoulders, pulling him into the thickness of his body and the spikes of her headache sharpened.

The obligatory smiling pictures of the 'Romance Risen from the Ashes of the War' and perhaps, after she could vanish. Her nerves were tight. Her belly swirling. Unease gripped her and she didn't know why. It had to be just another awful night...and she'd had so many of those since she left Hogwarts the year before.

"Ron, my breathing is _not_ optional."

He laughed loud as if she'd made the best joke...and a flash bulb half blinded her. The stink of potion-thick smoke swept around her, stinging her eyes and nostrils.

Merlin, she wanted nothing more than to tug on the jewelled band and throw herself back to her little flat. Or better yet, lurch into Severus' cottage, demand tea and disappear the night with her attempts to make him laugh—

"So what's your answer, Miss Granger?"

A journalist from _The Prophet_ loomed _._ He had his official pass tucked into a lurid purple trilby and his stylus paused above a magical slate. His mouth parted in a leer and his eyes shone hot and dark. He stank of red onion.

What…?

Hermione went for her wand and stepped back… And failed at both.

Ron's arm caged her and her wand…her wand was clutched in his sweating and meaty fist. He was grinning at her. And others. _Men_. Men swamped her. Ones from the Ministry, old school friends —Harry, that shit Cormac— and his foul uncle, the Minister himself, his pale eyes sharp and…and _pleased_.

She stopped herself from wetting her lips and willed her heart to slow. Panic pricked her nerves. They were all too close, the heat, the stink of them dragging over her stretched senses. "Sorry, what?"

"Your marriage."

"My…"

Harry was grinning at her, as if all his plans had settled into place. Ron's sweaty fingers tightened their grip around her shoulder, digging into the muscle, a hit of pain ramming through her heart.

_Marriage?_

Another flash, another plume of stinking smoke.

Crushed up against Ron's side, there was no air. She couldn't breathe. The wild thrum of fear chased up through her chest. Her heart drummed. Fast. A flush of heat rocketed over her skin and she tried to focus, not to shake, and cry out and gods, gods…

_Marriage_.

"It's brilliant!" Ron declared and beamed like a clabbert at the surrounding male horde. "We'll be married on the first turn of the year. Spring is the best time for a marriage bond. Tradtional. And me and Mione are all about tradition."

He squeezed her again and Hermione fought not to throw up. "My parents were married on the same day I've picked…and everyone knows how… _successful_ they were."

Male laughter raked through Hermione's dizzying senses. And another flash of the camera, to catch her dazed expression.

Successful.

_Successful_.

A quidditch team. His very own quidditch team. That's what he wanted. What he expected. _Seven_. When he knew, when she'd _said_ she wanted one, perhaps two at most. And Merlin, they hadn't even…

"Of course, Mione will be the perfect role model for all witchkind. A symbol," he looked to the Minister, his shoulder's lifting, "of our peaceful and stable wizarding world."

Jerolin McLaggan's words. Obviously.

Her own world tilted.

Oh gods, in that single statement, in the look that the Minister gave Ron, gave _her_ , fuck… Fuck. He —they?— wanted witches, powerful, clever, ambitious witches, curbed. Harnessed. Ron had always been intimidated by her. Her power. Her brain. Had his…insecurities fallen into line with the Minister's nasty plans? And she, she was the example all would be urged to follow. All choice taken away. Gods…

Her head swam, her thoughts caroming into one another. This… _this_ was what they'd bought when they'd bought her. Her body. Her future. And the future of every witch.

They'd cornered her with her debt.

And from the smug gleam in the Jerolin McLaggan's eye, he was _well_ aware that she had no escape. A default on the debt would see her in Azkaban. A loan, a loan from the goblins, because Harry was bloody _beaming_ at her, but secured how? She'd have no job, no home, nothing.

"Eight, I think, don't you, Mione?" Ron squeezed her bruised shoulder and she held back a wince. "A nice even number. And 'steps and stairs' my mum calls it. The best way. Traditional."

Ron had been rambling on. Eight? Her stomach dropped. Fucking _eight_. Eight children one after the other in quick succession.

Even with magic, she would be worn down, _deliberately_ worn out.

She wanted to scream at them. Shriek at the injustice, but Ron rambled on and they —none of them— didn't seem to notice that she'd not said a word. Except for the Minister. His sharp gaze missed nothing. Loathsome, bloated tick, that he was.

Hermione pulled in a breath. And another. She'd survived a fucking war. Bore the scars from it, from torture and hatred.

Oh, she had no way out from the horror, but she would be fucked sideways before she made it bloody _easy_ for them to rip away her future.

She snatched at her wand —pulling a cry from Ron and surprised gasp from the crowd of bastard-smug men— and yanked at the band in her hair.

The port key dragged her away to her flat. To quiet and darkness and the cool air of winter on the silent street. She leant against solid, cold brick. Her place. Hers. A tiny little four room flat, one of five above Potage's Cauldron shop. Filled with books and journals, and _her_ things. Ron had never stepped across the threshold. Not once.

For three hard heartbeats, Hermione pulled in deep breaths and fought the shaking of her limbs, the roil of her belly, the edge of panic still making her heart drum and slicking sweat over her skin. Anger chased after and through it. They'd pay for this moment. This plan to bind her, bind the future of every witch into…servitude.

Her flat wasn't safe.

It'd be the first place they'd look for her.

But she _did_ have a safe place.

With a crack of air, she disapparated.


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Hermione pulled in icy air and willed the rush of panic from her bones.

A hard heartbeat later, Severus' outer wards washed over her with a familiar warmth and eased her rawed nerves.

His tumble-down cottage, tucked away on the always boggy Dark Peak, shone a golden light in the front room window. The promise there of warmth and friendship, of quiet sanity…but she couldn't burst in on him. She didn't want to throw her problems at him like an out of control bludger…

Another breath. The chilled air forced a shiver.

She willed her foot forward…and failed.

Gods, she didn't want to go in there and tell him that she _had_ to marry Ron. It twisted something raw inside of her. A pain she wasn't expecting. That her debt… She yanked open her bag, a tiny thing made voluminous by a crafty extension charm, and pulled out her binding contract with the Ministry.

She always had it with her, so that she could pick at it, find a loophole to pull her free of always being tied to a bright and subservient smile, of saying yes to every Ministry order. But -hope flared- Ron had offered marriage. Not the Ministry. Though Jerolin McLaggan had been so fucking _smug_.

The scroll was hot, singeing her fingers. What…?

Unrolling the length of parchment, silvered light shone out from _new_ paragraphs.

She stared, a fresh rush of nauseous anger churning up from her belly. A _hidden_ clause. Bastards.

_In the paying of Hermione Jean Granger's debt to the Bank, she, Hermione Jean Granger, henceforth titled a Bought Witch, will enter into a binding, unbreakable marriage with Ronald Bilius Weasley, wizard._

_Said marriage will, as agreed, in the Ministry's contract with Mr Weasley, cancel his own debt with the Bank._

_The Bought Witch, will work until conception, and after no role will be offered, available or sought in either the wizarding or muggle worlds, beyond that of House-witch. As said House-witch, she will produce as many heirs as Mr Weasley commands._

As Hermione stared, the word 'Eight' etched itself in silver.

Her jaw fell open. It'd been the plan from the very, _very_ beginning. To bind her. To turn her body over to Ron and for her mind and ambition to rot.

"Shits. Utter, utter shits!"

Fury burned up through her chest. Hot and fierce. Oh, they'd made an enemy this night. An enemy who'd brought down a Dark Lord.

Taking out bloated Ministry ticks? Piece of fucking _cake_.

With no other thought, Hermione burst through Severus front door, the house wards spliced and crackling from the wild force of her magic. Severus would frown and moan. But fuck. He'd understand. She stormed into his front room. She couldn't risk his laboratory, not with the spike of her magic, the anger that had her blood racing and the need to pound everyone in the Ministry into flat, wizarding pancakes. But first one Ronald Bilius Weasley, git extraordinaire, would be pummelled and hexed and then kicked. And—

Severus was sitting in his chair before a cold fire, simply staring at his knotted hands. His hair was raked through, as if he'd worried and snatched at it for hours. He looked pale and drawn and so like she'd seen him in the days after he'd recovered from Nagini's attack that it hollowed her belly. All of her fury fell to ash. "Severus? What's wrong? What's happened?"

He blinked. Looked up at her and frowned. "Hermione?"

"Tea?"

"I'll…" He half rose and she pressed a hand to his shoulder. He sat with an ease that deepened her worry.

"No, stay where you are. I'll get it. It won't be as lovely as your brew, but…" She was rambling, so she turned on her heel and scurried into his kitchen. A place he hardly used as most of his time —and her visiting time— happened in the laboratory at the end of his little garden.

Hermione clanked about in cupboards, drew and heated water, found tea leaves and milk...and a few minutes later was pressing a mug into his chilled hands.

She perched on the other chair and focused on her friend. Had he been to Gringotts already? What had the goblins said? Done? "Severus?"

He sipped from his mug and didn't frown. He despaired of her tea-making skills. To offer no comment, nothing snide… _What had they done?_

"It's...insane, Hermione." He sank back into his chair and stared at her, though his gaze was still distant, lost to her. "My shit-stain of a father was a squib."

Hermione blinked. A squib? Then that made him… "You're a pure-blood?"

He barked a laugh. "Half-Blood Prince, no more, it seems."

"But why would the goblins tell you that? It was them, wasn't it?"

Severus ran a hand over his hair, messing it further. "Yes, them. I am, it seems the last of yet another bloodline. And a very, very wealthy man."

Hermione's heart leapt. The joy of it. For him to be free of the bind of work. He could do anything, _anything_. A twinge pinched at the joy that he would escape her too. Run off to exotic climes, where she could not follow. She focused and frowned. He was a wealthy man, yet… "You don't look happy."

"There is a condition on accessing my windfall."

Oh, she understood conditions…

"I must marry and produce an heir."

Hermione's belly rolled over and the bitter words were out before she could think. "You too?"

Severus frowned at her. "What?" He blinked. "You were cursing. Your magic." His black gaze narrowed and flicked over her. He sat forward, focused and sharp. "What has happened?"

"Wizards like their conditions, don't they?" She sipped her own tea and pulled a face. Yes, she should leave the brewing of it to Severus. "There's a hidden clause in my ministerial buyout. Ron was secured too. Or he secured it. I don't know. Utter twat. Anyway, it was agreed —without my knowledge— that I'd marry him and produce children as a shining advert of peace and stability in the new wizarding world."

"But Mr Weasley is an unmitigated arse!" A flush of angered red cut Severus' cheeks. "Profligate. Dense. Unfaithful."

Yes, there hadn't been a quidditch groupie Ron had turned away. She was aware of that. And now she knew why _The Prophet_ had never reported his wandering hand. And other parts of him. Spin. To spin the travesty they wanted to inflict on her, the Ministry had obviously quashed the reports.

To be truthful, they had never really been a couple. One kiss over a basilisk fang did not a full and lasting relationship make. In the beginning of her time as a Bought Witch —and a fist tightened in her gut at the loathed term— it'd been easy to follow the Ministry line and let others think they were together. She had no interest in any of the hangers on and glory hunters who wanted the trophy of her hanging on their arm, after all.

"I'm not even really his girlfriend." A bitter laugh escaped her. "The shine of Ron Weasley rubbed off in that hated year on the run."

"And Mr Potter?"

She heard the real question. Why hadn't Harry paid off the debt to Gringotts? She pushed her fingers into her hair, pressing the tips to her scalp and fighting off the building headache. "Harry... It was all so...confused. My parents, Ron, the loses, the trials."

"The Ministry caught you before you could approach him."

Hermoine nodded, but there'd been a reluctance on her side too. To ask her friend to pay so much, when she had little chance of paying him back...though he was stretching that old loyalty with his enthusiasm for her being chained to Ron. Harry was often oblivious. He no doubt saw the Golden Trio as a forming tighter bonds, of not simply friendship but blood. And Harry always wanted family ties, above _everything_.

She grimaced. "So, as of this moment, we're in the same boat, Severus. Bound to and for a spouse in whom we have no interest."

He blinked. And blinked again. "We are." He fisted his hands in his hair. "We are."

"Severus…?"

"The...the goblins are rankled that the money I'm due is locked away from them. Has been for almost a quarter of a century because I have not set foot in Gringotts nor met the last condition of the Shafiq Clause."

He set his mug on the hearth and fixed sharp, black eyes on her. Hermione's chest tightened, unused to being pinned by his fierce gaze. Her breath was trapped and her pulse thudded. And gods, it was so different from the wild panic that had gripped her at the ball.

He knotted his hands and sat forward. "They would do a deal, I'm certain, to free it. After all, what is the sweeping aside of a small debt compared to getting their bony little fingers on the Shafiq fortune?"

Hermione shook her head, crushing the first flare of hope. "It's half a million. Galleons not Sterling."

His mouth tugged at the corner. Fierce. Wicked. "As I said. A _small_ debt."

Hermione blinked. Fuck, how much was he worth now?

"Marry me." Severus took her hand, pressing it between both of his. Warm, strong, callused from potions work. Her heart squeezed. His eyes shone with hot, black fire. "Marry me, Hermione, and let's stick two fingers up to the whole bloody lot of them!"


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

"I didn't know goblins could perform a binding."

The Banking Hall was dark and silent. Empty. But the thrum, the power, the _awareness_ of the Bank was everywhere. Hermione rubbed at her wrist where the golden binding cord had chased over her skin only moments before.

She'd agreed. Of course she had. In a wild moment of knowing she could escape Ron, the Ministry, her job, her grey life, that Severus would be equally free and that they would have more money than they could roll in. Them. The shunned wizard. The bought witch.

Though had she simply sold herself in another way?

No, no, this was _her_ choice.

They'd stood —barefoot and in plain, green shifts— in a bowl-like cave, the walls smoothed earth with the spark of minerals caught in the nine torches planted in the floor. The air was warm, heady and Hermione caught her hand in Severus', nervous and panicked that the contract would splinter their plan.

A deep pulse of sound thrummed through her feet and caught her breath.

"The Bank values you."

Hermione pressed her lips together and tried not to wonder if that was a very bad thing.

A goblin, dressed as they were in a plain shift that brushed the packed-earth floor, stepped into the light of the ring of torches. He lifted his palm and a matching pair of goblin-wrought rings gleamed in the flickers of fire. He jerked his pointed chin up. "I am Ironrake, Agent to the Shafiq Clause. Do you wish to rebind the tontine to your new line?"

Severus shook his head and the goblin's shoulders drooped. "I would let it rest, Ironrake. It has served its time."

"A great pity." Ironrake drew in a long breath. "You are here to comply with the last condition of the Clause. To secure an heir."

Hermione blinked. He wasn't suggesting that they had to…?

Severus squeezed her fingers and the slight shake of his head let her breathe again. No...conceiving in the bowels of the Bank. That was a relief, at least. Not that she was thinking about conception, or...or _consummation_ —

"Hermione?" Severus dark eyes, sparked with golden fire fixed on her. "You can step away—"

"No, _no_."

She squared her shoulders and took a step closer to him. Severus' scent surrounded her, hints of herbs and parchment mixing with the soft earthy aroma of the chamber and she breathed him in. It eased her. _He_ eased her. She pressed her hand to his chest and the solid thump of his heart beat under her palm. Real. Tangible. The heat of him, the line of firm muscle. And gods, her face was suddenly so very hot...

Severus' hand covered hers and his dark gaze was soft. "I promise you, my soon-to-be-wife, that we will make them pay. All of them. Through the nose. Or any orifice of your choice."

Hermione snorted a laugh. "Of that I have _no_ doubt."

"Are you ready?"

Ironrake's sharp voice cracked over them and they turned as one to face the sour-faced creature.

"You enter willingly into a contract with each other to secure blood and profit?"

Hermione flicked a glance to Severus and the corner of his mouth twitched. It was a bald, if true, statement. She jerked a nod and murmured "We do" after Severus' firm saying of the words. He squeezed her fingers again. Her belly did a little flip. This man. This wizard till the end of her days. Beyond money and revenge, gods it felt...right. Tea and potions and laughter and endless dark eyes and clever hands and the memory of his firm chest that still burned a wanted shape under her fingers—

"By agreement to fulfil the final condition in the Shafiq Clause, the Bank agrees, as a sign of placed value, to open up Severus Snape of the House of Prince and Shafiq, to profits of said Clause. Namely the profits garnished from his own monies and in addition, the property in Belgravia." Ironrake's dark eyes narrowed. "Agreed?"

Severus nodded. "The Bank honours me —us— with its value. Agreed."

Hermione sucked in a shaking breath and twin ribbons of gold wound out from the rings on Ironrake's palm to snake a warm spiral along their wand arms. The rings spun towards them in the wake of gold and settled on the index finger of her right hand, matching Severus'.

A short smile grazed Ironrake's thin lips and his open palm closed into a fist. "You are one. Bound together under the protection of the Bank, all previous contracts, all binds, all old and new vows…wither."

_Free_. She, they, even as they were bound, they were _free_.

A flow of magic teased and flowed under her skin, warm and deep, ancient and Hermione's heart drummed, her breaths short. It pricked every inch of her skin, chasing from the roots of her hair down, down and sinking away to fade through the soles of her bare feet.

She sagged and found Severus' strong arms holding her up. His smirk curved against her forehead. "Not your usual wedding vow."

"No…"

"You will present your heir to the Bank a year from today to satisfy all conditions." Ironrake's eyes sparked and his thin lips twitched upwards. "Though, you are a Potions Master of some renown, Master Snape, your reputation preceding you even to the Goblin Nation. The Bank would look...favourably upon you, your kin and your...pursuits if the matter was settled at your earliest convenience."

Severus stilled and Hermione closed her eyes, a sourness chasing away the warmth of their binding.

Ironrake was proposing a strong fertility potion. _Recommended_ it.

And logically, Hermione knew, _knew_ that would always be the way they had to go. Just not so…fast.

Fuck, her friendship with Severus was precious. She didn't want their...their _marriage_ to ruin it.

* * *

Hermione stared at great doors that opened onto Diagon Alley. They swung back, creaking and the spill of magical torchlight and the spin of sharp, cold air made everything suddenly very real. She was married. Married to Severus. And they had to… She had to…

"Hermione..."

Severus' voice was quiet and something lurked under it. Resignation. No, _no_ …

"It's not you. It's me." She cursed at those trite words. "I mean… Shit." She winced, some schoolgirl part of her still wary of swearing in front of a teacher. Former teacher. Friend. Now husband. She grabbed his lax hand and threaded her small fingers through his long, pale ones. "I've never…" She screwed up her eyes, breathed, then willed her gaze up to meet his. The blank wall of occlumency dulled the blackness. Yes, right, he was protecting himself. "I have never had sex."

The blank shield shattered. "Dear gods, Hermione, why didn't you say? I would never…" He tugged her back. "Come, this can be annulled."

She stumbled forward, but jerked back, too aware that they were having a tug-of-war in the bank's entrance. The chance of witnesses was slim, but still… "No. I am not breaking this bind. No. We need to go somewhere private."

His mouth tight, Severus marched from the bank, his hand in hers...and a moment of fierce, tight disapparation later, they stood on the short front path of his little cottage. He released her hand and the chill winds rushed a shiver over her. She flexed her fingers and stuck her hand in her coat pocket.

"Tea?"

"I think we need something a lot stronger."

She shook her head. "No, I want to be clear headed...later."

Severus broke into a vicious run of curses and stormed into his house.

Hermione stared after him.

No carrying her over the threshold, then.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

Severus banged and clanked about his kitchen as Hermione settled herself before the fire. She cast a spell, lighting it and pushed some fresh kindling in to deepen the heat. Golden light filled the small room and she sank back into her chair.

Pushing back the cuff of her jumper, she stared at her wrist. The faint lines of gold fell into the creases. They would fade when their binding was consummated.

Severus thrust a mug at her. "Why didn't you say?"

"When, when would it have come up in conversation, Severus? This tea is lovely, got any chocolate digestives, and by the way, I'm a virgin? Or, I don't know, what's in this sauce and yes, my lady parts are...pristine?"

He snorted and sank into his chair. She was thankful her weak stab at humour had broken his ire. "Lady parts?"

" _Witch Weekly_."

"Of course." He let out a long breath. "I would never—"

"I'm happy it's you!"

Severus simply stared at her after that blurt of words.

"I am. This way, gods, it _means_ something. Your freedom. Mine. And you're my friend, Severus. Not a glory hunter. Not using me to spin a lie—"

He opened his mouth.

"No. You saved me from the Ministry. Gods, you have enough money to topple this shitty bunch of idiots and set Minerva as Minister."

"Yes, very probably."

"Good, let's do that."

She sipped her tea and let out a happy sigh. "In this marriage, you officially make the tea. Every time. I am not allowed. So mote it be."

Severus shook his head, but the twist of a smile faded from his lips. "Hermione…"

"Ah, no." She held up her hand. "I'm not a romantic, Severus." He was half way to scoffing, but she cut him off. "I'm not. Truly. More than anything, I want someone I can trust. Rely on. Someone who makes perfect tea." She toasted him. "And will become probably the wealthiest wizard in the British Isles. That last one doesn't hurt a bit."

"Gold-digger."

She smirked at him. "You've been reading my press."

"We did rush into this—"

"Oh..." It wasn't about her. He was having regrets. A leaden weight dropped into her belly and the thought that he didn't want her tightened her chest. Her eyes burned. She swallowed in a tight and the lingering taste of her perfectly brewed tea grew sour. "Oh. I see."

"What? No." He reached out a hand and took one of hers, tangling their fingers. "Gods girl, no. You deserve a man who's not been wallowing in dark magic. Stained and tainted with it. Not for your first time. We can wait to complete the binding and you can—"

Hermione gaped at him. Simply gaped. " _Why?_ Why would I run off to someone else? The very few who could be considered —not that I am, not for an instant— stood around and agreed with Ron. Smiled. _Smiled_ at it. Agreed that I should be his...his breeding bitch."

A sharp line of red slashed across Severus' sharp cheeks and Hermione closed her eyes.

"That is not you. That is not us."

"Merlin, Hermione, it is. I... _we_ ," he winced, "have to present our baby to the Bank a year from now to meet the condition of this insane clause. With the fertility potion." He drew in a long breath. "That… _I'm_ taking away your choice there too. You will conceive from your, our first time together."

She was aware of that fact. Very aware. But, gods. Severus or Ron? There was no competition. Not for half a heartbeat. "I would rather have...twenty seven babies with you than stand within three feet of most wizards."

He gaped at her. " _Twenty seven_?"

"How big is that estate in Shropshire?"

Soft laughter escaped him. "You are quite addled, witch."

"That's called amusing eccentricity when you're rich, you know?" She squeezed his fingers and gave him a sure smile. "Take me to bed, Severus. I...am curious," her face heated, "but could never trust anyone enough to let down my walls. You, you I trust. Completely."

"You can have your own private room on the Janus Thickey ward."

"How sweet and generous are you?"

Her belly twisted when he didn't stand, didn't pull her to feet. She'd made the offer. And he...he was it ignoring it. Was his suggestion to find someone else really a way to avoid her inexperience? Did he not want that in his bed?

"Sweet girl." The endearment, rumbled in his low, rich voice wrapped around her heart. "I want to make your first time pleasurable. And, to be frank, it has been a number of years since I last had a bed partner."

Something like relief chased through her. Was that all? "So?" His blink dragged a smile from her. "We have…forever. This is a marathon, Severus, not a sprint. And first times are notoriously awful. I'm...practical and not one for unrealistic expectations."

"You say that…"

Hermione stood and stepped between his parted knees. Her heart thudded and shaking fingers threaded through the clean and fire-lit strands of his black hair, teasing them behind his ear. The golden light limned the paleness of his sharp jaw and caught in the depths of his so-black eyes. He was striking. Mesmerising.

Severus' chest rose and fell, his long hands curved around his knees and quite, quite bloodless. Allowing her to touch him, to explore. That sweet line of pink stained his high cheeks.

Her gaze flicked to his softly parted mouth, and her belly squeezed. His twitch of a smile, tender, dark and wicked, caught her breath. And dear god, had his lips always appeared so…kissable?

She dipped her mouth to his, a brush, a tease, the taste of air and skin and perfectly brewed tea. It broke a smile from her. Her pulse drummed and the need, the fresh ache of wanting this wizard, his man was a burn through her flesh.

Merlin, this, _he_ was _right_.

"It's time." Hermione drew back and held his black-fired gaze. "Take me to bed, my husband."


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

As ever there is a dearth of smexxy words (don't get me started on my o-fics, where words mean pennies!) so to jump start this stalled fic, I'm going to the aftermath. There's full on smexxy in my other fics if needed ;-)

* * *

Severus sank into the deep pillows, his breath short, his pale chest heaving. "Still practical?"

A burst of laughter broke from Hermione. She pushed her fingers into the wild and tangled knots of her hair and grinned at him. Gods, her face ached from the straining, the panting, the screaming… "You are a secret I'm going to keep very much to myself, Severus Snape." Her smile grew sly. "Sex god."

The wizard barked a laugh, stretched out his arm and pulled her body to him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and her heart squeezed at the simple and unexpected gesture of affection.

"You...inspire me."

And that delicious rumble under her ear, with the evening out of his heart, gods, a fresh tingle of need chased through her flesh. Severus large hand stroked her hip, teasing a shiver over her skin and she gasped, her open mouth pressed to him. And already...already his cock hardened again.

"See?"

Hermione drew a line down the sparse black hair of his chest. Scars silvered his pale skin. So many… The grey light pushing through the square panes of the window lay across her wrist. The gold had vanished. Their marriage bond was complete...and would soon shine again at the conception of the Shafiq heir. A goblin twist. Which reminded her...

She stretched across him to the small bedside table the tiny vial of the most potent fertilty potion known to wizardkind. With a hard beat of her heart she knocked it back. The surge of heat, of life, of the wild bloom of spring and...and _life._ It threaded through her blood, her flesh her bone, sinking down...down and coiling with sweet golden warmth in her womb.

She slumped against Severus' chest, a weariness slamming into her, more than the quite lovely ache from how very thorough her new husband had been-

"Regrets, Hermione?"

She looked up to the dull burn of his occluded gaze and shook her head. Gods, no. The drag of the fertility potion easedShe drew in a long breath, the scent of him, of her, of their future. Unexpected, yes, but their was not one second of doubt. Not now. "Not for a second, Severus. I was thinking of practicalities." She pressed her chin to his chest. "The odds of conceiving the first time, even with your _excellent_ potion, are slim, aren't they? I think...I think we should make an exponential increase in our chances. Don't you?"

A devilish spark lit his black gaze. "It is fortunate that I bound myself to the most...practical of witches."

* * *

It was late Sunday before they managed to crawl out of Severus' —their bed, she now supposed— in search of proper food and a few flesh easing potions.

Severus had declared himself an old man, worn down by the insatiable demands of a young new wife...when said young new wife could barely walk and had aches in muscles she never knew existed.

Severus pressed a freshly brewed mug of tea into her hands and smirked as she flopped back into her chair, cradling her precious brew.

"Practicalities—"

Severus snorted. "Hermione, even with a strengthening brew and inflating draughts, I could not see my way to any more...practicalities this night."

She snorted and rolled her eyes at him. "Very funny." She sipped her tea and let the warmth and flavour flow into her. She sighed. "Our bond is complete."

"Very much so."

"Yes." Hermione drew in a breath, the memory of two days of pleasure enough to tighten her exhausted body. Perhaps she was insatiable. She met Severus' pitch black gaze and her face heated further. She was proving herself insatiable for _him_ , at least. She let out a long breath. "And there was a sweetener from the goblins."

"The Belgravia house." Severus wiped his hand down his face. "With my profits no longer being...garnished, we will be comfortable. I would say we rent out that house. This place," he looked around the small, plain sitting room, "with a little time and effort and galleons would be adequate until the Shropshire estate becomes free."

Until their child was born.

The sudden twisted strangeness of her life caught her again. But...but she found herself more willing to look to a shared future with Severus than any other wizard she'd met. And certainly not the forced nuptials of one Ronald Weasley.

"A good plan."

Severus twitched a smile. "And, though I would...prefer you not to come into my laboratory now, Hermione, there will be enough for you to walk away from the Ministry. To chase any Mastery you want...other than Potions. At this time."

Hermione blinked. Her heart gave a little patter of joy. She'd been so focused on simple escape that she'd not thought of her future plans. Besides bringing down the government, naturally. And well, Severus had addled her sharp brain with far too much pleasure. Wicked man.

But not set foot in her hated office again? To avoid the obligation of being the Ministry's bought witch. Though she had the latter, already, courtesy of the goblins. Yet, to offer nothing—

"You married me, Hermione. You will give me an heir and satisfy the insane Shafiq Clause. Anything I give you will never be enough."

"Oh, Severus..."

She put down her mug, pulled his own free and eased herself into his lap. She teased a kiss to the very tip of his infamous nose and smiled as a fresh line of soft pink coloured his cheeks. She sighed and snuggled under his chin, her chest blooming with warmth as his arms wrapped around her and he pressed a kiss to her wild hair.

"Would you like me to witness your resignation?"

Hermione smirked. To have the looming form of the Potions Master beside her as she slapped her resignation in the face of her hated boss...oh that would be another little hit of bliss. "You really are quite lovely, you know."

The warmth of his laughter threaded through hers.


	8. Chapter 8

Drinking over-fermented wine and writing SSHG...

* * *

Arnold Sourfox, her loathed supervisor, jerked out of his chair. "You are beyond late, Miss—" He froze. "Granger…?"

Hermione let the twitch of a smirk play on her lips. She knew exactly what—or rather _who_ —had the man tongue-tied.

Severus stepped into the wizard's office, only half a beat behind her. His face was set in grim lines, his eyes dark and every inch of him buttoned into black wool. Power shrouded him. He was _deliciously_ intimidating.

She _had_ had trouble letting him out of the front door that morning...

"Madam Snape."

Severus growled her new title and Arnold blanched. Then blinked.

Oh… Was he in on the deal to foster the new, perfect, male-run wizarding world via her unwanted joining with Ron? Her dislike of the man went up another notch.

"Madam…?" Arnold sank back into his plush chair, the velvet stretching and straining. He gaped. "But…"

Hermione dropped the fiercely red envelope onto his desk. It wasn't a howler, but, well, the thought was there. "My long overdue resignation, Supervisor Sourfox, for you to read at your leisure." She gave the foul little man a snippy smile and pointed back to the door. "I'll just clean out my desk."

Arnold erupted from his chair. "You cannot for one minute think that you can get away—"

Severus stood beside her and simply...folded his arms. Arnold gulped and sank back down again. Her husband huffed. "We are done. Madam Snape owes nothing more to the Ministry."

Arnold's mouth opened and closed. And it was obvious that the very second they left his plush office, he'd have his head in the fireplace and floo-calling the troops. It was a confrontation from which she didn't intend to run.

As Severus would say: fuck them.

* * *

"Here they come."

It was a low rumble as Hermione sorted through the stacks and boxes on her desk, hunting for everything that was solely hers.

She looked up and her gaze narrowed on Arnold, and some Ministry flunkies, the Minister, and oh, look, Ron crowding into her little office.

"What's he doing here!"

Ron blustered, his face mottled red, his chin up and lips pulled down. Was he feeling brave with the Minister and his surrounding flunkies? He'd put this bloody deal to them and they'd agreed with it. Kingsley should never have stepped aside, especially with this McLaggan moron simply itching to grasp at power.

But Kingsley was an honourable wizard.

Unlike her very ex boyfriend.

"Severus is an upstanding member of wizarding Britain, and as such has every right to be in the Ministry. And," Hermione favoured Ron with her best and most snippiest smile —the utter git, "as my _husband_ , he has kindly offered to help me pack up my things."

She gave Severus a softer and much more treacle-laden smile. His own lips twitched, but he returned her look with an elegant nod. "It is my pleasure, dearest."

Oh, that was pure dark silk. Hermione pressed a hand over her heart and fluttered her eyelashes. "You really are quite lovely."

A heavy silence followed, broken only by some strange and strangled gurgling escaping Ron.

"You _cannot_ be married."

The Minister shook his head and his wand flicked the air. Severus shifted to a blur of black wool and Hermione was pressed to his back, his free arm tight around her. His wand was out and the blister of a curse already heated the air.

Jerolin blinked and the revealing spell flittered to little spits of magic. "Snape—"

"You will not cast unknown magic over my wife."

It was a low growl that throbbed through Hermione's chest and, there, right there, the dark little thrill of Severus putting all of his considerable power to defending her. And Merlin, it'd been a whole three hours since they'd last seen to any...practicalities. What with all those quite-lovely buttons…

Severus' hand flexed against her spine. She focused and eased around him, her fingertips playing over warm wool. Her husband slid her a dark, amused look before he fixed a cold eye on the wizard before him.

He lifted an eyebrow. "Well?"

Jerolin spluttered. "A revealing spell, Snape."

" _Master_ Snape... _Minister_."

And he made the title sound like thestral shit.

Severus smirked, something dark and twisted, and every wizard to a man took a step back, stumbling back into the door, its frame and tiled walls. The power of him was almost…tangible. "Your contract with my wife is null and void." He held out his hand and Hermione yanked the thick scroll from her bag and, with a flourish that had Ron muttering, placed it on his waiting palm. "As you can see."

A moment later, the staccato barks of gobbledegook wound around the parchment, mixing with the hiss of magic and smoke. Spidering cracks chased over the skin and ash rose, twisting, churning…vanishing.

"Impossible!" The Minister jerked forward and met the tip of Severus' wand to his throat. He rocked back on his heels. "You can't threaten me—"

"Where is the threat, Minister?" Hermione lifted her eyebrows in mock innocence. "My husband is simply ensuring that our most valued politician comes to no harm. Who _knows_ what will spark from a thoroughly dissolving contract?"

"You aren't married!" Ron was a dangerous level of mottled puce now. It was a disturbing combination with the carrot orange of his hair. "Minister. Jerolin, you said that nothing could bind—"

The Minister slashed his hand and hissed.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Nothing could bind me under the magic of the Ministry, perhaps? Or only bind me to _him_." She spat out the word and glared at Ron. He lifted his chin in return. He was supposed to be a masterful chess player. Couldn't he see in this match his King was being kicked in the balls by the opposing Queen? "Your plans for me are done. Over with. I am no longer a Bought Witch. And your other plans? For witches? Oh, you will regret those, gentlemen." She pinned each wizard with a glare. "You will."

"You and _him_?" Ron sneered as he jerked his chin at Severus. "You're no threat."

The final motes of ash drifted away on little eddies of air. Severus closed his hand into a fist and he huffed a laugh. "Tell that to Voldemort."

Every wizard blanched. At the name, or the reminder of exactly who _they_ were, Hermione didn't know. And frankly didn't care. By the end of the year, they would be ruined and every witch, every single one, would know of the plan these men-and others-had to…subjugate them. Anger tightened her belly, but she willed it back. She had no intention of showing their hand. No, their money, their plot was quite, _quite_ secret. Let the gits scramble to work out how they'd circumvented the airtight contract.

She shrank her things and pocketed them. "I'm ready to go, Severus."

He ran a cleaning spell over his hand and offered it to her. Long, warm fingers threaded through hers and the power of him, of their bond hummed through her flesh. Hours. _Hours_ since practicalities...

"Don't think you're walking away from me—"

Ron jerked onto his toes, Hermione's wand under his chin. "This is not over, Ronald Weasley. Not for a second."

"Minister, she's threatening—"

" _Master_ Snape." Jerolin greased his way forward, a sly turn to his mouth. Oh, did he think he could draw Severus to his side now. Foul tick of a man.

"Minister. Remove yourself from our path." Severus' voice dropped to little more than a spike of ice. " _Now_."

Jerolin paled and took a long back step. But his mouth had thinned and pale eyes fixed on her, sharp with loathing.

"And direct such a look at my wife again, _Minister_ , and I will boil your eyeballs in your skull."

"You cannot—"

Severus leaned in, towering over the other man. His long, black hair swung forward and his low voice was velvet whisper. "You will find that I can. And I will." He straightened and looked to her, as if the...promise had never been uttered. "You're ready to leave this place, my dear?"

Hermione grinned at him. Resigning with Severus Snape was oh-so-much fun. "I am."

He waved his hand and the wizard scattered and clattered from their path. Hermione led the way out into the dark-tiled corridor, the itch there on her spine of having enemies at her back…but she trusted her own skill. And Severus'.

Every step away in the magic-wrapped silence beat in her blood. They were in her abandoned office, plotting, scheming. Bitter and angry. Dangerous-

Her wrist burned and she jerked, snatching at her wand. "What…?"

"Hermione?"

A shield wrapped around them in a rush of fierce magic and he pulled her to him, his wand arm ready.

But she was staring at her wrist.

"Severus…?"

He looked to her, a frown pulling at his mouth. His eyes narrowed. Had his name sounded as breathless as she felt? She lifted her wrist in the gloom of the empty corridor and a line of gold shone there.

As they'd been squabbling in her old office, she'd well, she'd _conceived_.


End file.
